She studies me for a second, then nods.
“Fair enough,” she says, lifting her drink. “Then tonight, we celebrate you.”
I smile, real this time, and clink my glass against hers again.
Because for the first time in weeks, something has gone right. And I need to hold onto that.
I groan, rolling over and groping blindly for my phone as it rings far too loudly for my fragile head.
“Mm?” I mumble.
“I’ve been calling you all morning,” Mum complains, and I wince as her voice drills straight through my skull.
“I was celebrating last night,” I mutter.
I risk peeling one eye open and immediately regret it. Nausea surges. I swallow it back and groan louder.
“Yes, congratulations,” she says. “But listen, the bank called me back. They said there wasn’t a mistake.” My stomach tightens. “The money,” she continues. “It’s mine.”
I roll too fast and tumble straight off the edge of the bed, yelping as I hit the floor with a thud. I stay there, staring up at the ceiling, my heart hammering.
“Not only that,” Mum adds, her voice bubbling with excitement, “but everything’s paid.”
I swallow. “Everything?”
“The mortgage,” she says. “All my debt.”
“Debt?” I repeat weakly.
She sighs. “Stop parroting me. Yes, Leoni, I was in debt up to my eyeballs. But it’s gone. Every last penny. I owe nothing. And I’ve still got all that money sitting in the bank.”
I push myself upright slowly, ignoring the way the room spins.
“Could it have been insurance from Isaac?” I ask quietly.
She scoffs. “You think your brother had life insurance? That doesn’t come with his kind of job.”
Despite everything, a short laugh escapes me. It’s the first time she’s said his name without breaking.
“Fair point,” I murmur.
“And there’s more,” she says. “Jordan’s decided to go back to college.”
My chest lifts. “Really?”
“Yes.” Her voice softens, proudly. “He said if money isn’t a worry anymore, he wants to finish his course.”
Tears sting my eyes. “That’s… perfect,” I whisper. “That’s such good news.”
I hang up a few minutes later and sit there on the edge of the bed, phone still clutched in my hand.
My head aches. My stomach churns. Because I know. I don’t have proof. Not yet. But deep down, I know exactly where that money came from.
Monday comes too quickly.
The weekend disappears in a blur of cheap wine, takeaway cartons, with Mum insisting I eat more, and Jordan laughing louder than I’ve heard him laugh in months. For two days, we celebrated the small, good things, like interviews, job offers, cleared debts, and second chances. I almost let myself believe that this is what normal feels like.
Now, standing outside the modest glass-fronted building that houses my new job, my stomach flips with nerves.
